


My Heart In Your Hands, My Blood On Your Lips

by itsarealpity



Series: Geraskier Works [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt Kills Jaskier, Graphic Violence, Horror, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Murder-Suicide, Short One Shot, The Witcher Lore, Unrequited Love, Witcher potions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23592172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsarealpity/pseuds/itsarealpity
Summary: The Witcher’s head snapped to view Jaskier leaning against the tree and the look on his face was one of vicious hunger. Teeth bared and sword in hand he ran at the bard with impossible speed. Cornflower eyes filled with terror and he screamed, barely moving in time for Geralt’s blade to miss and graze only his cheek. If he hadn’t moved, the silver would have gone straight between his eyes.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier Works [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650880
Comments: 6
Kudos: 245





	My Heart In Your Hands, My Blood On Your Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the warnings!!! Lots of blood and gore!!!  
> A short little thing based on something my wife mentioned.  
> Apologies in advance for the feelings!

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

They had been on the road for several weeks, not having a moment’s rest in between monster contracts. Of course their purses were heavy but their minds and bodies were worn ragged. Geralt more so of course since he was the one actually completing the contracts, risking his life almost daily. He had just gone into town to acquire some missing ingredients to restock his supply of potions. Jaskier had offered to go with the other but was rather rudely banished from accompanying him. Instead, he had settled into a room at an inn on the outskirts of the village, heaving his and Geralt’s packs onto their respective beds. At least Geralt tolerated him enough to share a room with him then although it was a hell of a battle to get to that point.

To say The Witcher wasn’t fond of him at first would have been an understatement. But gradually over the years he grew tolerant of the bard and they were some semblance of friends. Technically the word “friend” was something that Jaskier referred to him as but it never was quite requited, at least out loud. As far as unrequited things went, Jaskier’s feelings towards the other were no longer friendly. Something about the brooding and cold Witcher had carved its way into his heart over the years. To say he wasn’t interested in the other at the very first sight of him would be a lie, but it took time for that interest to fully take him over mind, body, and soul. It took great effort not to write his yearning for The Witcher into his ballads. After all, he was quite the hopeless romantic and it always was exposed in his music.

Geralt opened the door, bringing the bard out of his thoughts quickly. He had returned with a bundle of herbs wrapped in cloth under his arm. His face was drawn and exhausted from so many less than easy days on the road. Geralt didn’t even look at the other while he entered to shuffle to his side of the room, plopping the bundle on the bed.

“Back so soon? Get what you needed?” He watched him pull his pack apart across the bed.

“Mhm,” he simply hummed in reply, seemingly too interested in the clicking of the glass vials as they poured onto the sheets.

Jaskier was always wary of those vials of mysterious liquid. He knew what they were of course, he had seen Geralt use them before and during combat. Witcher potions, granting him an extra boost where necessary to be able to find or fight off whatever monster he was hunting. Cat was a common one to aid him at night or in pitch dark caves to see what normally could not be seen to the average eye. Jaskier would never admit it to the other but seeing the effect of the toxins brought upon by those concoctions frightened him. The ghost-like complection, the prominent view of the sickly looking veins in his face, and the eyes… Oh the eyes were the thing that shook him to his core. Voids of pure black only reminded him there were orbs in those sunken sockets when the light hit them just right. The only solace to the bard’s mind was that the effects were not permanent. Gradually they wore off or the Witcher took another potion to lower his toxicity.

Of course he never voiced his opinions on the usage of such magical vials. Despite not knowing it practically all the time, he knew it wasn’t his place to tell him how to be a Witcher. He had tried to advise him on a monster hunt once and was snapped at cruelly which ended his suggestions regarding the other’s work.

Geralt started busying himself with the task of assembling the necessary ingredients for various elixirs while Jaskier perched himself on the bed, watching intently. The other didn’t seem to mind the attention and quietly worked, grinding, mixing, and combining items the bard would have never thought to put together. Some required flame to cook them, some required dried monster parts. The man was fascinated as he worked. He did notice one of the vials change a rather dark purple color after being mixed and wondered what that potion did. It was nothing like the other colors of the bottles so it must have been special in some way. Jaskier was a little hesitant to ask, especially since it had already been tucked away into his pack.

Several vials of different colors and textures later, Geralt looked as if he were going to fall asleep right there as he poured his final elixir into its receptacle. He let out a big sigh and moved the bag off the bed finally, rolling over and almost deflating onto the sheets. Almost instantly he fell asleep, not even changing out of his sweaty clothes. Jaskier rolled his eyes and moved over the bed to the other one with the lump of Geralt in it, stripping him of his shirt. Boots and socks came off as well and were placed by his bedside. He yanked the blankets out from under him to cover The Witcher up to the neck as best he could without waking him, if that was even possible.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” Jaskier sang in a hushed tone and settled into his own bed.

Always back to the grind, Geralt instantly headed for the notice board in the next town’s square. A few small contracts regarding simple monsters: ghouls and nekkers. There was one involving something killing in the woods, described as an ancient looking creature with the face of a deer skull. A Leshen no doubt. The Witcher went to the one who posted the notice and spoke with him, Jaskier in tow who was silently listening and keeping mental notes. The bard had never seen a Leshen, which was a good thing according to his companion, and was curious about such a beast.

“May I come along?” He asked as they left the man, heading towards the woods.

“Absolutely not. Leshen are dangerous creatures that are even a threat to Witchers, let alone a human,” Geralt shook his head and brought Roach to a safe place, leaving her to continue on foot.

Jaskier followed after him anyway for they weren’t that deep in the forest yet. He wasn’t one for danger but the prospect of a new monster to sing about was tempting him, especially one that commanded nature, as the villager had said. Geralt stopped suddenly and stuck his hand out to prevent the other man from walking any further. It got eerily silent for a moment and the sound of wolves howling in the distance meant they were close.

“Jaskier, go back to the village. It’s not safe for you, especially now. Get out of here, now,” he hissed and pushed the bard away back in the direction of the town.

He knew when Geralt took that tone that he was serious and nodded, hearing a faint cawing of crows and the howls getting closer. Just as he backed up to turn around, he was stopped dead in his tracks by roots wrapping around his ankles.

“Geralt!”

The Witcher cursed and grabbed Jaskier’s doublet to keep him still as he cut the wood away from his legs carefully. It was too late. Instead of the Leshen waiting for Geralt to come to it, the beast came for them. He saw it appear from behind a tree, towering over them as it lumbered in their direction.

“Stay close!” He yelled, getting in between it and the other man.

Shoving his hand in the bag on his hip, he reached for a potion but was knocked back into Jaskier, bringing both men to the ground. The vials spilled out onto the forest floor getting lost in the leaves. Geralt brandished his silver sword, cutting back any roots that came their way as he climbed back to his feet while attempting to make sure Jaskier was safe at the same time.

Jaskier was horrified. There was a reason that the other never let him come on a monster hunt and he finally understood why. This thing, twice their size with a skull for a face and trees for a thin and sinewy body, screeched at them as The Witcher got a hit in and it hurt his ears. He covered his face as a wooden claw came at them from out of nowhere and was hurtled back against a tree from the impact. Geralt turned to see him sprawled out on the ground and lost focus just enough to be thrown back as well, a large gash spilling blood from his shoulder. A scream of pain left the silver haired man and his eyes lost their focus for a moment, blindly grabbing at something shiny obscured by the leaves. It was a vial and Geralt downed it before even looking at what it contained. The thick viscous liquid coated his throat and burned all the way down, the effects hitting him like a stampeding horse. His body felt aflame and his eyes burned, the whites of his eyes growing dark. Every nerve on his arms and legs exploded with sensitivity and his upper lip curled into a snarl.

“Look out!” Jaskier cried to the other, reaching out even though he was much too far away.

Geralt turned and with inhuman speed, sliced off the Leshen’s arm. It shrieked and swiped at him again, losing the other arm just as easily with another swing of The Witcher's sword. Seemingly angry, the ground shook and before Jaskier could open his mouth, roots surged out of the earth towards Geralt. He spun his head around and dodged them with expert precision, landing hit after hit on the Leshen’s wooden bony body.

It was terrifying to watch. Geralt didn’t look human anymore. Granted he wasn’t human but he looked like he himself was a monster. The toxicity seemed to affect him immediately because when he caught a glimpse of his face, the whole of his forehead and cheeks sprouted sickly purple veins lining his features. Eyes dark as a moonless night nestled in their hollow looking sockets, it was all the telltale signs of a toxic overdose. But this time something wasn’t quite right. The way Geralt tore into the body of the Leshen, he looked almost animalistic. His teeth were bared even after it went down and knotted into branches on the forest floor. He didn’t even bother with cutting the head off for the trophy, he just crushed the skull under his boot into fine pieces with a sickening crack.

“G-Geralt?” He gently called to the other, hands trembling from the mere energy he gave off.

A mistake.

The Witcher’s head snapped to view Jaskier leaning against the tree and the look on his face was one of vicious hunger. Teeth bared and sword in hand he ran at the bard with impossible speed. Cornflower eyes filled with terror and he screamed, barely moving in time for Geralt’s blade to miss and graze only his cheek. If he hadn’t moved, the silver would have gone straight between his eyes.

“Geralt! Wait-!” He tried to scramble away from the tree but was pinned back against it under the others' boot.

He could feel his ribs creaking against the weight and he cried out as best he could, all the air in his lungs leaving him. Jaskier gripped his ankle tight trying to free himself of its weight but failed. He heard a rib crack and he cried out in pain, nails digging into the leather. This seemed to bring satisfaction in the other as he pressed down again, cracking another rib with a vicious grin.

“S- Stop! Geralt, it’s me!” Jaskier wheezed and coughed, blood falling from his lips.

His cries fell on deaf ears for Geralt pulled his foot away to kick him sharply in the stomach. The bard wretched and fell over, the stream of blood from his mouth pooling on the ground below him.

He didn’t understand what was happening. No potions ever made his companion act this way before. In fact, he never would have dreamed of Geralt winding his arm back to hit him across the face with the hilt of his sword. Jaskier fought to keep his consciousness even though his vision blacked out for a second and his head pounded.

“Geralt please! It’s me, Jaskier! Stop!” He cried, terror overwhelming his body.

The Witcher simply snarled in response and the flash of silver was the only warning he got before the blade sunk into his shoulder. It pinned him against the ground even as the bard writhed and howled in pain, seemingly fueling the feral Witcher’s wrath.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He envisioned them finishing their monster hunt and going back to collect his reward. Then they could have had a nice afternoon together. He could have dragged Geralt into a tavern and made him watch as he serenaded the fine folks of the village. He knew the man enjoyed his songs secretly and he would have sat there with a tiny smile on his face as they drank ale and celebrated his victory as he sang the night away. Maybe they both would have gotten a little too tipsy and he would have confessed his feelings or maybe shared a drunken kiss...

But no-

“St- Stop!” He gripped the metal and tried to force it out of his body, “It’s me, Geralt! Please! Wake up!”

He didn’t. In fact, he looked even more cruel than he did before. Geralt knelt down and pulled a knife from his boot, letting it hover over the bard for just a brief moment as desperate pleas tumbled from his lips. The knife sliced into the skin on his face on both cheeks, leaving stripes of blood running down to his ears. The pain was enormous and he felt like he would lose consciousness. The Witcher took the blade and ran it over his blistered lips, tasting the red liquid making Jaskier cry out even louder.

This couldn’t be how he died. Tears formed and ran down his face, the front of his light blue doublet stained almost entirely red.

The blade of the knife came down to bury itself deep in his chest right by his sternum and slowly cut him apart with extreme inhuman strength. With one swift movement, Geralt’s hands found their way between his ribs and cracked his ribcage open, destroying the bones in the process. The pieces of his ribs fell away down the sides of his doublet as the other’s hand dug past his lung with gruesome cruelty. He found what he was looking for, his heart, and pulled it past his lungs to sit on top of his chest. It still beat, twitching on the fabric of his shirt with each weakening beat. Geralt held it in his hands, admiring it as if it were a pretty flower.

“G- Ger- alt…” Jaskier managed to breathe one last time, eyelids losing their strength to stay open through the tears.

Something else brought pain to his chest, not from the fact that it was gaping open. It was knowing that the man he fell in love with killed him and didn’t even know it. There was no turning back now. He could feel one last pitiful twitch from his heart and that was it. Everything went quiet and the pain stopped. Who knew if Geralt would ever come out of it to realize what he’d done. Jaskier hoped he didn’t. He hoped he never had to face his actions and suffer knowing he did this to him. He didn’t deserve it. Despite everything, he truly believed Geralt was a good man. Jaskier just hoped he found peace after this. It was the least he could have.

Blue eyes like the sky vanished behind sunken lids and he was no more.

The Witcher’s face, contorted by cruelty, malice, and the potion’s effects softened and the gold of his eyes burned its way through the inky blackness. His lips, curled back in a snarl, eased back into their place over his bloody teeth. Almost as if a curse was lifted, Geralt’s normal sight was bestowed to him once more and he blinked a few times. Confused, he looked around the forest and then realised something was in his hands.

The heart, as still and cold as a rock, fell from his grasp.

“J- Jaskier?”

He looked down upon the mauled and bloody mess before him. His bard, his companion, was dead at his knees. Geralt’s scream could be heard throughout the trees for miles. He couldn’t tell when he started shaking but his hands attempted to anchor themselves on Jaskier’s shoulders. At first he didn’t believe it was his doing, it must have been some monster. But it was his sword inside his body. It was Jaskier’s blood on his blade, on his hands, on his mouth.

He did this.

It wasn’t until much later, when the sun began to set, that someone found them. The glint of light off the blades was what brought the townsfolk to that spot. Bathed in heaven’s ethereal golden glow were two men, one slumped over the other. Snow white hair fell over brown curls, obstructing their faces but the townspeople knew. They knew who they were.

It wasn’t often that those would gaze upon a Witcher who failed. The crushed bone and branches would have said otherwise but the bloody mess of a man under him told the real truth.

To this day, they knew not of what really happened but the tale of the two lovers buried in the forest would live on in that village.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, you can find more geraskier works in the same series! Follow me on twitter (dustystarlights) for more ideas and updates!


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